


All I Need’s A Fraction of Your Happy Heart, All I Need Is You

by geralt_of_rivia



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Geralt doesn’t care, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier doesn’t know boundaries, M/M, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Touch-Starved, piggy back rides, precious jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:00:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22475233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geralt_of_rivia/pseuds/geralt_of_rivia
Summary: Humans were the true monsters of the world, however, and thus Geralt generally avoided contact with them as often as possible. He would sooner snap the wrist of someone that caught his arm rather than accept a pat on the shoulder. It was a moot point, as thankfully, society avoided Witchers like the plague.That was, until Jaskier.OrExploring ways that Jaskier touches Geralt all he wants and Geralt is too whipped to stop him - mainly because he needs affection just as much as Jaskier.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 28
Kudos: 663
Collections: Best Geralt, GERALT AND JASKIER ARE FUCKING GAY, The Witcher Alternate Universes





	All I Need’s A Fraction of Your Happy Heart, All I Need Is You

**Author's Note:**

> title from Moscow by Autoheart because it’s so fucking Geraskier that I cry.

Ever since the trials, Geralt didn’t _do_ physical interaction. Well, innocently, at least. The most contact with human, or monster for that matter, he made was with his blade. If he had to touch, it was as last resort, and it was almost never positive. A swift kick to the head, using his hands to snap necks. All in all, any sort of touch he used was violent. For the bedding of a random woman in a brothel, here and there, that was different. It was the closest thing to intimate touch he both gave and received. 

Humans were the true monsters of the world, however, and thus Geralt generally avoided contact with them as often as possible. He would sooner snap the wrist of someone that caught his arm rather than accept a pat on the shoulder. It was a moot point, as thankfully, society avoided Witchers like the plague. 

That was, until Jaskier. Geralt didn’t even take the bard to be an idiot… generally… rather, naive. Young, not quite innocent, but with a carefree heart. 

Still, their first interaction involved Jaskier getting socked in the gut for pulling the Butcher of Blaviken card out. Evidently the bard didn’t truly see Geralt as a murderous mutant, considering he still continued to tag along. And the more he tagged along, the more Geralt noticed that the bard wasn’t afraid of him, much less afraid of touching him. 

Jaskier would quite nearly hang all over Geralt, if the Witcher would allow it. It started simple. A gentle pat on the shoulder, Jaskier using Geralt as a leaning post. Eventually it grew into Jaskier patching up Geralt’s injuries and, embarrassingly enough, Jaskier massaging chamomile on Geralt’s back and fucking apparently his glutes. That last bit had _not_ been a request, thank you, and Geralt had grumbled about it the entire time. 

It was just that when it came to Jaskier, Geralt didn’t feel the usual uncomfortable prickling of his skin at the bard’s touch. There was never any threat behind it. Jaskier didn’t intend to hurt Geralt, and Geralt would never, _ever_ purposefully hurt Jaskier. 

And thus, it was how Geralt found himself seated on a stump around a small fire, eating roasted squirrel for breakfast with Jaskier completely oblivious to the concept of elbow room. The bard was eating his squirrel leg, all whilst he shared the tiny stump and practically used Geralt as a backrest. 

“You know, I’ve got a deal for you,” Jaskier announced, flicking a bit of gristle back into the fire in slight disgust. “You can have the other squirrel leg, and I get to ride Roach until we make it to the next town.” 

Geralt attempted to nudge Jaskier off of his shoulder- gently of course, if he shoved too much the bard would topple to the ground, “No one is riding Roach. She’s tired and will walk alongside me.” 

“ _I’m_ tired, Geralt, and she has four legs to make walking easier,” Jaskier nudged back, leaning even more against Geralt. 

With a heavy sigh, Geralt stood and held the remainder of squirrel out to Jaskier, “Two more legs to ache, then. Eat up and stop complaining.” 

He kicked dust onto the fire to extinguish the dwindling cinders and left Jaskier on the stump to finish the squirrel. Their packs had yet to be loaded onto Roach, and Geralt was hoping for Jaskier to drop the subject. Silence was never an option anymore, but he preferred Jaskier’s mindless babble over bickering. Of course, Jaskier was never one to back down. 

“Pull apart this squirrel clavicle with me. If I get the bigger piece, I-”

“You are not riding Roach,” Geralt grumbled, not even bothering to turn around from loading his pack onto Roach. 

He heard the bard shuffling around, and suddenly Jaskier was right in front of him, wiggling the small v-shaped bone in his face, “You didn’t let me finish. If I get the bigger piece, I ride on _your_ back, because you’re absolutely correct. Roach is a goddess and she deserves a break.” 

Geralt guided Jaskier out of his way as he would a child, via a hand on top of the bard’s head, “Absolutely not.” 

He received slight flailing and a huff of annoyance in return, “You just know you’ll lose and get the smaller piece.”

Roach snorted as if she were amused with Jaskier’s jabs, and Geralt sternly pointed a finger at her, “Do not encourage him.” 

Geralt found the bone being dangled in his face, and he seized the half Jaskier wasn’t holding and tugged. The fragile bone snapped easily, leaving Geralt holding a tiny piece in his fingertips and Jaskier holding the majority of the rest of it. Curse his Witcher strength. 

“Ha!” Jaskier crowed, flouncing around Geralt triumphantly. “Even Roach is on my side. Saddle up, Geralt, looks like I’m riding y-”

“Do _not_ finish that sentence. You’re walking, or you’re staying here,” Geralt tossed the bone fragment onto the ground. 

Jaskier only snickered, but he finally helped Geralt finish prepping Roach for the road without further remark. Roach was almost as reluctant to start walking as Jaskier was, but with some minor bribing of mint leaf Geralt had in his pack, she trotted along obligingly. Jaskier, on the other hand, was unusually quiet as they started out on their hike. 

Geralt figured he was sulking, but stolen glances at the bard that trailed behind rather showed that the man was lost in thought. The three made it nearly twenty minutes into the walk before Geralt heard a sudden abrupt shuffle from behind him.

At first he thought Jaskier had stumbled, but then he was practically crashed into as Jaskier scrambled onto his back. His first instinct was to seize the “attacker” and throw him off- but Jaskier clung tight with his arms around Geralt’s neck and his surprisingly strong thighs wrapped around Geralt’s waist. 

“Friendly reminder that if you try to body slam me, I will break every bone in my body,” Jaskier yelped, pressing his cheek to the back of Geralt’s head and tightening his grip. 

Geralt sided on seizing Jaskier’s wrists and tugging to loosen the bard’s grip. Jaskier _was_ strong, but Geralt was stronger. The Witcher gave an irritated growl, “I am very much aware that you’ll shatter like fine china if I throw you off, so why the hell would you put me in the position to do so? What if I decided to snap your forearm in half?” 

Jaskier squirmed in the slightest on his back, “Well you _are_ bruising me right now, Geralt, _ow_ \- _”_

Geralt released Jaskier’s arms immediately. Jaskier _was_ a drama queen, but the thought of accidentally hurting him was like a hand to a hot stove. 

“Off. Now.” 

The bard’s arms loosened around Geralt’s neck, but rather they moved to pat his chest, “I won’t hold so tight. I won the bet. Roach was my witness.” 

“ _Jaskier,”_ Geralt growled. “You are the most insufferable person I have ever met.” 

Jaskier poked his head around Geralt’s shoulder to wink at the man, “So I can stay?” 

“Fuck off.” 

Geralt started walking again anyway, one hand sliding under Jaskier’s knee to prevent him from slipping off his back. A bet _was_ a bet. 

⚔️

It became obvious that Jaskier’s touch was usually mindless. Jaskier didn’t even seem to notice just how much he touched Geralt, didn’t ever seem to be afraid of touching Geralt, even when the man was seething with rage. There did, however, come a time where Jaskier _did_ seem afraid, but not for the reason Geralt expected. 

The contract Geralt had taken was to rid a fisherman of a lone drowner- a simple enough task that Geralt had allowed Jaskier to come along. What he hadn’t anticipated was for Jaskier to nearly be ripped from the bank of the river just at nightfall _by_ said drowner. 

Geralt was of course quick to remove the drowner’s limb and yank Jaskier onto the safety of the bank, but thus placed himself right into the awaiting grip of a second drowner. And there he found not two, but three drowners. They dragged him beneath the surface of the river, and he did his best to ensure their attention remained solely on him and not on the bard waiting on the surface. If Jaskier was wise, he’d get as far away from the water as possible. 

He needed less oxygen than the average human, but the drowners certainly had caught him off guard considering he’d been told it was the last to be killed in its group. They kept him pinned to silt and algae of the river bed for quite some time as he struggled to finally run each of them through with his silver blade, and with a deep gash across his chest he was finally able to behead the last of the trio and propel back to the surface. 

His vision swam a bit from being deprived of oxygen for so long, but he managed to climb upon the bank of the river. He planned to locate Jaskier as soon as he caught his breath, but as he collapsed onto his knees in the mud of the bank he spotted the bard kneeling a few feet away at the edge of the water. 

“That’s how you nearly became a drowner snack the first time, idiot,” Geralt panted out. “You should have left the water.” 

The bard’s head snapped up toward him, and he was slightly alarmed to see _just_ how pale Jaskier was. Within seconds Jaskier was scrambling up from his crouched position and launching himself at Geralt.

“Oh my _gods,_ Geralt, I thought- I was afraid-”

Jaskier was _trembling_ , and it certainly wasn’t from being partially damp. Ignoring the mud and Drowner guts that covered Geralt, Jaskier flung his arms around Geralt and hugged him tight. His face was pressed right up against Geralt’s shoulder, and Geralt’s injured chest protested slightly at the tight embrace. Still, Geralt’s arms came up in part confusion to hug the bard back. He _had_ admittedly been… worried about his far more vulnerable friend. 

“Are you hurt?” Geralt asked. “What’s wrong, what are you doing?” 

“Of course I’m not hurt, but- that was a long fucking time to be underwater and I- don’t ever do that again, you scared the _shit_ out of me,” Jaskier rasped, but he didn’t loosen his embrace. 

Geralt had never been more confused. No one _ever_ cared about Geralt’s wellbeing. It was his job to keep the _people_ safe, even if it meant he died trying. For someone to worry about him was a foreign concept. He gingerly patted Jaskier on the back in attempts to soothe him. 

“I’m fine… you don’t have to be concerned.” 

Jaskier slowly pulled back to search Geralt’s face. The pale color of the man’s face from before was replaced with reddening cheeks, “Yeah, well, too late for that. Let’s get you to Roach and then to a healer. I don’t think yarrow balm will do much for a gash bigger than my hand. You saved my life, but I don’t want you _doing_ that if it means you get yourself killed, okay?” 

Geralt frowned, “That’s my _job_ , Jaskier. I kill monsters.” 

“It is, but I’ve seen you fight before, and that wasn’t well planned. That was reckless. You made them come after you so they’d leave me alone.”

The Witcher was quiet for a moment, but when he spoke he gently took Jaskier’s face in a damp hand to make their eyes meet, “Because _you_ are far worth taking a risk for than any of the other humans I’ve met.” 

Jaskier gaped at him, but he shook his head fervently, “Don’t say that. Your life matters to me, too. Now come on, you’re bleeding- let me help you.” 

Geralt didn’t argue further, but rather allowed Jaskier to help him up. He allowed the smaller man to throw his arm over a supporting shoulder, let him only harbor _some_ of his weight as they made their way back to Roach. It wasn’t worth bickering anyway. Geralt knew in his heart that he would put his life on the line for the bard again without a second thought. Jaskier was, after all, different from anyone he had ever met. Jaskier wasn’t something he was willing to let go of. 

⚔️

Witchers weren’t supposed to feel. Feeling was a _weakness._ And yet, when Jaskier touched him, Geralt _felt._ It wasn’t disgust, or anger, or confusion like it was with any one else brave enough to put their hands on Geralt. It felt... warm. It felt safe, and Geralt found himself craving it. Jaskier, who Geralt had come to let comb his hair, stroke his cheek, _kiss his lips_. Jaskier was never afraid to push past the walls Geralt kept up.

It always made Geralt wonder why, wondered how Jaskier had never been afraid to nearly waltz right past the locked gates and into Geralt’s heart, and finally he grew curious enough to ask one calm afternoon at an inn.

They were sprawled in bed together, Jaskier’s head on Geralt’s chest as the smaller man rambled on about which ales were the best and about the best ways to cheat at Gwent without getting caught. Geralt’s fingers were combing through Jaskier’s soft chocolate hair, his gaze watching long lashes against high cheekbones and sun kissed skin. Jaskier’s own fingers were playing nimbly with the button’s of Geralt’s open shirt. He had never felt _more_ at ease than when Jaskier was touching him in some sort of way. 

“Why, even before _this,_ were you never afraid of me?” Geralt asked, his voice soft in the peace of the room. “Not afraid to _approach_ me is one thing, but from the moment we met you’ve clung to me like you’ve known me all our lives.” 

Jaskier blinked up at him in mild surprise, but then Jaskier pressed a soft kiss to the line of Geralt’s stubbly jaw, “Because you aren’t as scary as you’d like to think you are. You’re a big softy, I see right through you, Geralt of Rivia.” 

Geralt gave a quiet huff of laughter, “Before you, I wouldn’t hesitate to punch a man for touching me without permission.” 

The bard rolled his eyes, “You _have_ punched me before, and to be fair I deserved it, but I’ve never been afraid of you.” 

“No?” Geralt asked, ruffling up Jaskier’s hair playfully. 

“Never,” Jaskier said firmly. “I knew then that you’d never hurt me, and I still know that now. However, if anyone else tries to touch you like I touch you, I’m going straight for their liver.” 

Geralt hummed in response, but he pulled Jaskier closer with an arm slung around the man’s middle, “You don’t have to worry about that. I’ve never thought of myself as needing someone, and I told you as much- but now, I- I can’t see myself _without_ you.” 

Slightly chapped lips were gentle as they brushed against Geralt’s, and Jaskier playfully nibbled on his bottom lip before he murmured, “You were a tough one to crack, I’ll admit. You liked to act like my presence was a nuisance. There were always the half hearted threats to maim me when I was extra clingy and obnoxious. And yet here we are. You’re using me as a blanket and playing with my hair, which feels fucking wonderful by the way. I’m always going to take small victories. I’m a touch driven guy and when I saw you, I knew all I ever wanted to do was touch you. I wasn’t going to hold back from that, no matter how scary you tried to be.” 

“Irresolution doesn’t suit you,” Geralt snorted in agreement. 

“Or you, so hug me tighter. I’m cold.” 

Geralt sighed in mock annoyance, but pulled Jaskier better into his arms. Touch may have been the last thing Geralt wanted in the past, but with _Jaskier_ , with his happy heart and kind smile, it was all the Witcher needed. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it!! I just really needed some cute, fluffy, super touchy Jaskier and Geralt being confused as to why this bard isn’t afraid of being mauled by THE GREAT WHITE WOLF


End file.
